


Fitted

by MsArachnid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Tailor AU, amputation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsArachnid/pseuds/MsArachnid
Summary: Mako needs to find a tailor.





	Fitted

**Author's Note:**

> If I need to tag anything else please lmk, tagging is hard without going overboard.
> 
> I've wanted to write this for at least a year and finally got moving yesterday.

The sign looked terrible. Grayscale with Windows98 WordArt and printed on neon yellow paper, it stood out among the posters for missing dogs and upcoming 5k’s on the grocery store’s bulletin board. Mako pulled off a slip anyway. He’d needed a new tailor for a while now, and was becoming quite desperate. His clothes were simultaneously becoming both too snug and too baggy. The seat of his pants were worn thin, his buttons were loose, the waist pinched, and his sleeves were stretched out. Middle age was not kind. Mako needed new clothes.

He went to the address listed.

 

The address was not one in town by the businesses and it wasn’t part of the drycleaners. It wasn’t even in a house, Mako thought as he entered the residential side of town. No, the address listed was that of a shady apartment building he read about a lot in the police reports section of the newspaper. Not a great place to try to do business.

Mako went inside.

His old tailor had worked out of her home, converting the garage into a workshop and office. It was a comfortable set-up, and Mako had appreciated the coziness of the old woman’s decor.

Now she had been dead two years and Mako was knocking on the door of what might become his new tailor.

Maybe. If the guy ever opened up.

After a particularly heavy knock (which rattled the entire wall attached to the door), the door opened, just a hair.

“Yeah?” A scratchy voice asked as a pointy nose peaked out of the opening.

Mako shoved the slip of paper he held through the crack.

The man frowned in confusion before laughing. “Oh! That’s mine! Is that what you’re here for?”

Mako grunted. As if it wasn’t obvious why he was there.

“Well come in!” The man opened the door wide for Mako to go inside. He noted how odd this stranger looked, with his wild patchy hair and unkempt clothes. This man made clothes for a living?

The man continued on, “You’re my first customer! Officially. As a business. It’s kind of a mess, heh, I could tell you I just moved but I’ve been here for months - I’m Jamison by the way. Or Jamie.”

“Mako,” said Mako, looking at the stump offered in lieu of a hand.

“Oh!” Jamison dropped the arm and turned, looking for something in the disaster of a room. “Sorry, heh, forget I’m not wearin’ it sometimes...where did I put it…”

Mako watched, unimpressed. There was no way this guy could be professional enough to make Mako’s clothes. He should have called ahead, he should have looked online, or asked around before his old tailor -- 

“Found it!” Jamison grabbed what was presumably a prosthetic arm laying under a tower of sloppily-folded fabric, and pulled. They both watched as the tower fell over. “Oops,” Jamison giggled. He fastened the arm to the stump and waved.

Mako was slightly more impressed at the functionality of the arm, but still as a whole distrustful of the man’s apparent lack of ability to make a good first impression. “Let’s get coffee.”

Jamison paused in flitting around the room, gathering supplies. “Asking me out already? We just met!”

Mako rolled his eyes. “I want to talk.”

“Why not talk here?” Jamison frowned.

Mako looked at Jamie, looked at the piles of fabric, sewing supplies, and general mess of the place, then looked back at Jamie. He turned to leave.

“Okay!” Jamison lunged forward as if to stop Mako from leaving. “We can go out. There’s a cafe nearby that’s okay. It’s not great but we can walk.”

Mako didn’t really want to _walk_ to a cafe, but agreed anyway. It was enough that they were getting out of this apartment with its sticky floors and crumb-covered cushions.

 

The cafe was small. Mako felt cramped. The place looked like it’d been a corner store once, but thought cafes were a better business. It still had the feeling of a 7-Eleven. The gut job hadn’t removed the awful fluorescent lighting or the scuffed linoleum floors; it looked like they had simply relocated the shelves and added secondhand, mismatched tables.

Jamie strode right up to the counter, greeted the server by name, and ordered a large coffee. He went to get a table while Mako ordered tea, a bagel, and a slice of cake that looked promising. Once he got his things and paid, he joined Jamie at the table near the corner.

“Tell me about what you’ve made and who you’ve worked for,” Mako said.

“Straight to the point,” Jamison huffed. “Well! This would be a lot easier if I had my stuff to show you,” he trailed off, a vacant look in his eyes before popping back up, “I took some classes in high school, then some more at the community college, and I do the costuming for the theater in 14th Street. It’s fun, but it’s closed for renovations and I need something else to get me through.”

“And that?” Mako asked, gesturing to the prosthetic hand tapping on the table, “Is it recent?”

“Pretty rude,” Jamie said, “and _personal_. But no, I’ve had it for years. Actually,” he paused a moment, “it’s weird having two hands now. I learned with one hand.”

Mako hummed and finished his bagel. “My tailor died two years ago. I haven’t had anyone since then.” 

“Two _years_?! You’re supposed to go more often than that!”

“I know. But she was good, and understanding, and I’ve been reluctant.”

“Of what?”

Mako cut up his cake. “I’m pretty big.”

Jamison guffawed, loud enough that other patrons looked over. “That’s an understatement! You’ve gotta be the biggest guy I’ve ever seen!”

Mako glared. “This is what I’ve been reluctant of.”

Jamie continued, clearly attempting to clarify but failing. “No, it’s interesting! You’re tall - and I’ve worked for tall guys - but you’re also fat! And you are, _really_ fat. It’ll be a challenge! Hey - are you done?” Jamie glanced down at Mako’s unfinished food. “Let’s go back to my place and check you out, and I can show you my portfolio!”

Mako didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to walk back to that dirty apartment with this loud weirdo.

But his car was still in the apartment’s parking lot.

He shoved the rest of the cake in his mouth and stood up. “Sure.”

 

Back at the apartment, Jamie made Mako stand on the platform by the 3-way mirror. Mako looked out the window instead of in the mirror. The view wasn’t great.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got!” Jamison exclaimed, bouncing over. “Where did you get these clothes?”

“The shirt was made, I bought the pants from Walmart.”

Jamie hummed. “What about your underwear? If you’re wearing any. I don’t want to see them! Yet,” he snickered.

Mako continued staring out the window, a glare creeping onto his face as Jamie poked and prodded at his clothing. “Bought.”

“Are they tight? I bet they’re tight. Your pants sure are.”

Mako tore his glare from the window to Jamie. It went unnoticed.

“Why haven’t you gotten a bigger size?”

Back to the window. “They don’t go bigger.”

Jamie took a sharp intake of breath, and started to feel around Mako’s waistband to check if they could be let out. “Why not go on a diet?”

“No.”

“You’re right, you’re right, don’t. It’s not worth it. Besides,” he shot Mako a grin, “you have me now!”

Mako grunted.

“So, what are you looking for?” Jamie asked, pulling away.

“New clothes.”

Jamison laughed. “No shit! What kind of clothes?”

Mako looked down. “Isn’t there something you need to do first,” he said, despite it being worded as a question.

Jamie stared blankly, absently tapping his chin before he refocused. “Right!” He darted to the other end of the room, near the kitchen. He rummaged through some drawers before coming back with a photo album and some clothing. “The theater keeps the costumes, but they let me keep some favorites as samples. Plus I have this book to show everything else.”

Mako took the clothing to examine closer. He didn’t _really_ know what he was looking for, but they didn’t immediately fall to shreds when he tugged on the seams, and they looked well-made. Thumbing through the photo album, it seemed this guy really did know what he was doing, even if he came off as a sloppy dumbass.

He handed them back. “Okay,” he said, “Make a shirt and slacks first to see how it goes.”

Jamie lit up. “Great! Lemme just get my stuff!” He went back into the mess of the room, dumping the samples and album on the floor. “What kind of material do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jamison snickered a little and mumbled something, but soon came back with some fabric swatches and instructed Mako to choose what he liked. He brought out his stool to measure Mako’s neck, arms, and shoulders, and waited for Mako to finish picking. Once he did, Jamie got out his tape measures.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to hold this in place while I measure you. You’re the biggest I’ve ever worked for and I don’t have a bigger tape yet.”

Mako grunted an approval, so Jamie set to taking his measurements and writing them down. He asked how Mako liked his clothes to fit, what colors he liked wearing, if he liked patterns, and if he had a certain style. Mako didn’t really care, not anymore.

“Done!” Jamie announced, “come back in, hm, a week to pick them up!”

“Sure,” Mako said, stepping down and gathering his things, “a week.”


End file.
